Death by Coconut

Deep in the heart of a dry jungle, Dr. Hoffman crouched by a shallow green river flowing under vines dangling like cobwebs. Of the entire 1 million radius of this forest, this remained the only water present and he investigated it the best he could for the little life left there. Under the heat, this hydrologist struggled with his research with his cantins long ago emptied of clean water. Looking at the beaker of water he collected, he smacked his lips and wiped away sweat dripping into his eyes. Closely, he examined the contents to see the once cleared substance turn an icy blue.

Inside the vial, a strange winged creature stretched its thin limbs against the glass walls. A face with big eyes sprouted from the center of its body. While opening its mouth, it spread wings and phased through the container to show Hoffman its long teeth.

The scientist jumped aback and dirtied his explorer’s attire in the mulch and mud. He still held the vial as the creature fluttered around while he frantically crawled backward. His hazel eyes closed in on the creature as it landed on his peppered mustache. Hoffman raised a hand to swat it away, but it retreated its teeth and stood like an adrogenous human. He looked around to see that millions of these creatures danced along the stream and took sips from it beside him.

Once Hoffman calmed down, the now fairy-like creature spoke without moving its lips.

“You know what I am.” it said before flying away.

Edward rubbed his eyes to see nothing but the jungle before him. He rushed to the water; nearly diving his face into it but halted– shaking away desperately. So he stood with his equipment to return back for his camp.

The scientist treaded the cracked dirt of the drought tainted rainforest no longer characteristic to its normal hydration. In the foliage, trees hung over in arcs with scarce leaves robbed of their color that dangled and scattered over the floor that crunch beneath the hydrologist’s boots.

Hoffman’s nose scrunched while examining the ridges and paths of traveled earth where leaves left way for a trail.

Thump…Thump…thump…

A drumming noise became identifiable with its long rests between notes. Going closer down the path, it sang like a dies irae calling. Shifting leaves away like a bead door, Hoffman entered upon a scene of the Amar tribe lurking around a fire beating their drums.

The familiar tribe looked at him in awe with their various beaded attires and marked olive skin.

In the far back, the eldest tribesman held a wooden staff that supported his lengthened demeanor as he sat on a log. Hoffman looked at this man and spoke in the Amarian’s native tongue

“What is the music for, chief?”

The chief gestured for the scientist to sit, but Hoffman refused.

“This is our calling for the gods to return. They like control and should sense the imbalance and chaos with the pounding of our instruments.”

Hoffman adjusted his explorer’s hat. “They are still…inactive, I see. As you connected with the drought you have here.”

“Yes… how was your inquisition of our river?” asked the chief.

Hoffman finally sat on the log next to the chief and grunted. He took out a vial from his satchel containing a foggy blue liquid and clenched onto it as he showed the tribesmen.

“Well, the water is still very scarce and contaminated. I’ve tried various levels of titration and filtering to clean it, but it always returns to its original state. I’m sorry, but you cannot be using that water.”

The chief squinted as he pierced his lips and placed a warm hand on Hoffman’s shoulder.

“You have a greater understanding of our river than our tribe took decades to gather about Alvek’s river. Your silly tactics must truly connect you to your own gods’ work.”

“I guess you could say that. But I am telling you that all those crops you grow should not be consumed. The Ph levels are way too low. Not any powerful acid can balance the ions of the water as if the bacteria adapted to both high and low conditions of pressure, acidity and radiation frequencies. A singular procaryote multiplies at a rapid frequency and is nearly unkillable.”

“What do you propose?”

“Well, there are two options I have at the moment. First of all, I can network with contractors to build a reservoir for your tribe here. Because I believe the bacteria is still going to invade that water, it would be best to relocate your citizens.”

A woman overhearing the conversation nearby snickers at Hoffman’s speculations. He turns over to see the chief’s daughter with her silky black hair that cascades down her lavish curves.

“Trishka? What are you laughing about?” Hoffman scoffed as he leaned closer to her,

Noticing his enticed gaze, she quickly gathers her hair and inches away from him before regaining her confidence. In her thick accent of which her tongue held in the back of her mouth, she spoke.

“It's that we have been joking about what it would be like if you lived with the river like us. You are so connected to it but are only a quizzek.”

“Quizzek? May you please define that for me?” Hoffman responded.

“It means you try to know so many things in order to feel superior. Whether you are good at what you do because of it does not matter, but you really have no experience with our water or people.”

“But I care about your society!”

Trishka laughed maniacally some more, “I’ve read your journals… Edward. You are interested in this thing called the Nobel Peace Prize. But, even your companions on this ‘research opportunity’ did not support you. I think it's because of what they called you behind your back– a…. low life.”

Hoffman nearly lunged forward at Trishka, but the chief held him back and snarled in his ear.

“You must consider what my daughter says. After all, your gods do not watch over you here.”

Hoffman gathered his composure.

“Sorry, Trishka. It’s just that people have their privacy where I come from. And… I am aware of what my men thought of me. That’s why I let them leave me here. Really, I want to help. Maybe there is something I can do that can keep us all here.”

The chief let go of Hoffman. “Perhaps there is. Maybe you can enlighten the rest of the tribe at our sermons tonight.”

The day transgressed for the moon to dip over the horizon. At this time, the culture transpired from dancing, chanting and eating around the ritual fire. Sitting at the logs, the tribe prayed before gathering coconuts without eating. However, they each looked at the coconut with anticipation as their mouths heaved. It had been so long since the doctor had anything to drink.

The chief tore apart the husks and handed Hoffman one halve for the man to initiate tonight’s feast.

“Drink it, eat it, swallow it whole”, the elderly man demanded.

Hoffman retrieved the offering with a wavering hand. The chief sipped first and the scientist followed him. As the silky fluid ran down the throat and sank down, Hoffman drank more with urgency as the coconut teased his thirst. Once empty, he bit into the fibrous mean of the coconut– husk and all. His teeth gnawed through the textured mush as he devoured the coconut. Even once all the contents simmered in his stomach, an extreme hunger emerged.

The chief also finished his half and nodded in satisfaction.

Hoffman gulped and his throat stiffened with irritation from the coconut. He gazed upon his empty palms and desperately licked them in hopes of tasting more of the sweet juice. He kept licking only to find his rough touch grazing his skin without any moisture to be found before his teeth pierced his skin. A rich, metallic taste drenched his mouth as he suckled on the wound. Soon enough, he kept biting, bleeding and breaking the flesh all around his hand to find the meatiest part but wept as he could not satiate the roaring in his stomach.

The chief tackled Hoffman only to throw the elder on his back that snapped against the bark of a tree behind. Seven other men pinned Hoffman down as he gnawed at whatever was in reach. Tightly, they immobilized Hoffman with hempen rope before heaving him into a tent and constraining him to a bamboo bed.

Hoffman shook the bed but once acceptance occurred, his limbs went numb. He only could cry. His breathing was heavy and he could not speak up as his mind calmed. But then the men lifted the bed and took his body out onto the trail to the river. The path lit by torches scorched Hoffman as the flames reached just for him. The rest of the tribe followed as they began a chant of phrases that the man had yet not learned. Tepidly, he sang with them what he could mutter in panic “rasha er mota”.

They all repeated this as the bed rocked back and forth and his flesh burned on the way before beholding the rushing river– more ravenous than he’d ever seen.

With much effort, the men carrying the bed flipped him over as they shouted “Altek!” and plunged him into the current; bashing his exposed dermis into the rubble.

Hoffman gargled under the water but the men did not stop submerging him into the river. There was no relief as the water flowed up his mouth and nose. It burned like hell and the feeling of being paralyzed was much worse. He wanted to squirm and let them know death approached but understood the tribe’s intent. Above water the tribe squealed with delight and made bird-like sounds which they hollered in a guffaw towards the sky. This moment, the man's mortality had been tested.

As the sun beamed above the horizon, Edward opened his eyes under a densely flowing river. Untied, he grasped for a large boulder and turned over to his side where his face met with that of the old chief. The skin of the chief’s body was pasty from decay and erosion from the stream. The corpse's expression had its mouth wide open as if screaming while slightly closed lids barely revealed his foggy eyes.

Edward attempted to wake the chief by placing a hand on the right cheek but his fingers dug through the flesh. The scientist kept idle and slowly sat up without wiping away the gray matter. Without a second thought, he looked into the sun that smoldered like a colossal face.

Gathering himself, Edward Hoffman stepped forward. Lost.